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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471736">Good eggs save young Bertram's bacon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaWalker/pseuds/MischaWalker'>MischaWalker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ace!Jeeves, Aunt Agatha not so much, Aunt Dahlia is a good egg, Violence is off-screen, Violence tag might be over-cautious, war references, wwi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:34:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,532</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaWalker/pseuds/MischaWalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie is kidnapped for ransom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good eggs save young Bertram's bacon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Headcanon: Jeeves became old enough to serve during the last years of the Great War. An officer rather like Bertie, all good intentions but not the brainiest, saw that he was just a kid, so to keep him out of the worst of the fighting took him on as his batman/personal servant. It was still on the front and so he lived through a lot of traumas, including losing friends and just a few days before Armistice, the officer. This is part of why he’s so patient with and protective of Bertie.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="Normal">I escorted Mrs. Whitby to her door and bowed slightly. “A scholar seeking knowledge on how many angels could dance on the head of a pin could do far worse than beginning his inquiries by watching you, Mrs. Whitby.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“You are too kind, Mr. Jeeves. If tonight was at all like Paradise, it was because of your dancing.” She smiled up at me and I saluted her cheek with a kiss.</p>
<p class="Normal">“Good night, Mrs. Whitby.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Good night, Mr. Jeeves.”</p>
<p class="Normal">I considered the evening my ideal excursion with a woman. A charming and beautifully dressed companion, exceptionally good dancing, and closing with an exchange of compliments that was sincere in intent if exaggerated in expression. At times, I have regretted my lack of inclination to the connubial life, but that same lack of inclination gave me a more tranquil existence than many enjoy. I believe my ability to be objective about such matters is part of what has given me a certain adeptness at untangling the romantic situations of others, an adeptness which has served me well while working for Mr. Wooster.</p>
<p class="Normal">The unexamined life is not worth living, but my musings were hardly original enough to be more than background to my thoughts as I returned to my home.</p>
<p class="Normal">Mr. Wooster’s flat was dark and empty when I arrived, but this did not cause me any alarm. On my nights off, Mr. Wooster often stayed with a friend or at the Drones Club. Indeed, I was not worried about his absence until noon the next day, when the time approached for a luncheon appointment with Mrs. Travers. Mr. Wooster dreaded appointments with his other aunts, but he generally welcomed those of his Aunt Dahlia. While I consider Dr. Freud’s overall perspectives on the psychology of the individual to reveal far more about his own than about human nature, I cannot disagree with his belief that the subconscious mind makes decisions that appear to the conscious mind to be mistakes. Mr. Wooster’s regular forgetting of appointments with any of his aunts other than Mrs. Travers is a case in point.</p>
<p class="Normal">When she arrived, I explained that Mr. Wooster must have been delayed. “Do you know where that young fathead might be? I don’t think he’s ever stood me up entirely, he knows Anatole’s cooking.” I considered her phrasing perhaps undiplomatic but understandable.</p>
<p class="Normal">“I have heard nothing, madam, but will call the Drones Club and the friends with whom he is most likely to be staying.”</p>
<p class="Normal">I became uneasy when nobody I had asked had news of Mr. Wooster, other than that he had left the Drones late last night, in the company of two other gentlemen whose names the night doorman did not remember. He thought that one was a newer member and the other one his guest.</p>
<p class="Normal">Mrs. Travers commented, “Silly young blot. Well, Jeeves, these chops alone were worth a visit.” She fixed me with a steady eye, “I was going to ask him to look over the articles proposed for the new issue of Milady’s Boudoir to see what men’s fashion ideas he might add in his own addled way. Could I persuade you to look?” She added, after a moment, “I might as well wait, in case he got into what he persists in calling his brain that I was coming for tea or dinner.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Certainly, madam.” I knew that she would understand my meaning when I myself added, “I will make some additional inquiries first.”</p>
<p class="Normal">The hospitals and police stations had no record of any incident involving Mr. Wooster.</p>
<p class="Normal">I served tea to Mrs. Travers and she addressed me with her usual frankness of expression. “Look here, Jeeves, I’m starting to worry. Usually you can find him by listening for a disaster and then looking right in the middle. But it’s not like him to forget a lunch and be gone for so long without word. He knows that despite your being a sensible chap with a brain, you’d worry.”</p>
<p class="Normal">I nodded.”Might I suggest tracking down the men with whom he left the Drones?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Capital idea.”</p>
<p class="Normal">The phone rang. “Good evening, Mr. Wooster’s residence.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Is he in?” I recognized the voice as his Aunt Agatha’s.</p>
<p class="Normal">“No, madam, he is not.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Do you know where he is?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Unfortunately, madam, I do not.”</p>
<p class="Normal">There was a long pause. “We received a ransom note.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“What?” I remembered myself, “Would you kindly repeat that?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“A ransom demand. I thought it had to be a joke but if he’s missing...”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Mrs. Travers is here, shall I inform her?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Put her on the phone.”</p>
<p class="Normal">While Mr. Wooster’s two aunts spoke, I considered the situation. While not as rife as in other parts of the world, kidnappings for ransom did happen even in London and, as much as it pained me to admit it, Mr. Wooster’s guileless nature would make him an easy target.</p>
<p class="Normal">Mrs. Travers’ voice became quiet. This alarmed me far more than if she had shouted. “So a whole estate is more important than a whole Bertie, is that it?” She hung up the phone, very carefully.</p>
<p class="Normal">“We’d need her permission to convert his holdings into cash to pay. She refuses. Says that paying kidnappers off encourages them.”</p>
<p class="Normal">I usually pride myself on my impassivity but I must have failed, as her next words were, “For God’s sake, sit down, man!” I did so, carefully. “Now think, Jeeves, what can we do?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Are there any ways to circumvent her permission?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“No. She and I are the two trustees and liquidating it requires both our approval.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Forgery?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“It has to be done in person at the bank, with the bank manager.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Impersonation?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“He knows her.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“An appeal to his better nature? Or a bribe?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“It’s...possible. Almost everything Bertie owns is in the trust but I’m sure Tom and I could...let’s think about that.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Would the kidnappers accept less? Did she tell you anything about the demand?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“She read it, it said that we had two days to collect two hundred thousand. Monday morning, she’s to call a number and they’ll tell her where to take the money. If anybody follows her, he’ll...he’ll be the one to pay for it.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“That is a standard threat,” I tried to reassure her and myself. I had to clear my throat. “We have two days to find him or raise enough funds to satisfy them.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“I’ll do that, Jeeves, you try to find him. Get me some paper, I’ll make a list of people who might help.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“I’ll go to the Drones and find out who last saw him.”</p>
<p class="Normal">At the Drones, I first found Bingo Littleton. While I enjoyed considerable standing among the staff, I knew a member’s orders would be obeyed where mine might not be. I explained the situation and after a period of some shock and disbelief, sputtering, “Oh, I say,” and “Not Bertie!” he offered all possible assistance. He obtained the address of the night doorman and we went there.</p>
<p class="Normal"> The landlady was more than willing to admit us after Mr. Littleton gave her a pound. It was a small but tidy room in a boarding house. Mr. Foster, the doorman, appeared to be genuinely shocked at the news.</p>
<p class="Normal">“Had you ever seen them with Mr. Wooster before?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Not that I remember.”</p>
<p class="Normal">“Did he seem to know them?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“He was...” Mr. Foster looked pained.</p>
<p class="Normal">“He was drunk?” I did not have the time to bandy about the words.</p>
<p class="Normal">“How exactly did he leave the club?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“He came out and asked me to hail a cab. I said that it might be a while since it was raining so heavily when the two men who had been talking outside under the awning said that he could share their car.”</p>
<p class="Normal">I found it entirely plausible. Mr. Wooster would have had no hesitation in offering a lift to a fellow Drones member and would never have imagined such an offer wouldn’t be made just out of a spirit of generosity.</p>
<p class="Normal">Mr. Littleton clutched his hat in his hands. “Would you know them again?”</p>
<p class="Normal">“I don’t know, it was darkish out and their hats hid most of their faces. One of them was wearing a yellow macintosh, if that helps.” I was infuriated but I knew blaming the doorman for failing to be more observant would not change the situation.</p>
<p class="Normal">“What about the car?” Certain persons pay more attention to cars than to people.</p>
<p class="Normal">“It was a beauty. A Phantom I Jonckheere Coupe.” I exchanged glances with Mr. Littleton, who shook his head, which I took to indicate that he did not know anybody who owned that particular make of car. Still, it was a possible trail to follow, so Mr. Littleton and I returned to Mr. Wooster’s flat. On the way, I tried, but without success, to convince myself that Mr. Wooster might be waiting there. Perhaps he might even have made himself a cup of tea, leaving the usual kitchen havoc in his wake. I would welcome that and be thankful for it every time it might happen in the future.</p>
<p class="Normal">However, when we arrived the flat was empty. Mr. Littleton’s devastated face suggested that he had shared my hopes.</p>
<p class="Normal"> </p>
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